There's a shoe rack outside my dorm room, here at the university. On its topmost shelf stood a pair of brown leather hiking boots, quite nice. I noticed them when i arrived, almost two months ago. Nobody had touched them in all this time. They didn't seem to belong to any of us three residents of the lower floor, and they didn't look like girl boots, either, so the top floor residents are probably out of the equation, too. Then yesterday, as i am coming out of the bathroom, the mystery is explained: the guy who lives at the end of the corridor has bought himself new shoes, and needs the space on the shelf for them.
-What should we do with these boots? - he asks.
-Well, i don't know. Who do they belong to?
-A guy who used to live here and died last fall. They've been there for almost a year.
-Oh. - i say. -Where did he exactly live?
-In your room, actually.
We repeat this conversation a couple of times. I want to make sure i've understood him. It might be my norwegian, but no. I understood right. The guy was a student of medicine. Died of heart problems.
-Do you want them, then? - he asks finally.
-Well... why not? I'm not superstitious.
There's a look on his face. I think maybe he doesn't understand me. I don't know how to say superstitious, so i've said it in English. I try to explain.
-There's nothing to be afraid of, i think. And if you don't want them, yeah, they're nice boots. I will take them. Besides, i keep my shoes inside my room. You can have the shelf.
He laughs.
My room feels different now, and i used the boots today to come to classes. My feet felt happy. Or maybe the boots did.
Who knew! I am a little superstitious, after all.
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